ARRIVAL LOG 005

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: Night of August 23 (through to August 30th)
WHAT: The fifth arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy. Further notes at end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #005

Awareness comes to you in blurred snatches, cloudy fragments of sound and light, color, sensation. Hazy and difficult to grasp on to, but slowly aligning into focus. A series of regular, rhythmic beeps. A medicinal, astringent smell. The sensation of movement, a low hum and accompanying vibration under you. Your eyes are heavy, hard to keep open, but in the glimpses between slow, dark blinks you see four people in black body armor seated opposite you, as well as a man in dark gray scrubs. You realize there are others next to you. All of you in white scrubs, hair recently cut but at various stages of growth, restrained by straps across your chests, arms, feet, holding you to the bench under you. To your left, an armored interior door, two more people visible, the movement of dark streets and neon windows passing through a windshield. You try to open your mouth to speak, but it's as if your tongue is coated in tar, and you manage nothing more than an empty parting of lips. The vehicle stops. The guard opposite you stands and comes to unbuckle you from the bench, helping you to your feet. Your limbs feel wooden and heavy, slow to move. One guard opens the back of the vehicle: beyond it, a chamber only dimly lit by strips of light along the floor. The nurse moves to stand at the back of the vehicle, checking each passenger over one by one just before they're helped out of the vehicle, quick and methodical. She doesn't climb out after you, moving to sit as the last passenger is unloaded. The guards keep their heads down. Their actions are quick, firm, but not entirely unkind. Under your feet, you can feel the thrum of heavy bass vibrating through the floor. You see nearby that there is another bus, another load of passengers being helped out, lined up much like you are. Once you're all in place, the guards move down the line, pulling dark hoods over each passenger's head. Your arm is lifted, placed on the shoulder of the passenger in front of you in line. "Hold on," says one of the guards. "Stay quiet. Keep moving until I say stop." There is no will in you to fight the orders. How far you walk is hard to determine. Counting steps is difficult, and any concept of time passing stretches between the sound of footfalls and breathing - soon overshadowed by the music. Growing louder, closer, the heavy bassline begins to reverberate through the air around you, amplified by the acoustics of the place. Melody and vocals become audible, the chatter of a crowd. Finally, you stop, and the hoods are pulled off, following down the line as the guards walk back. You turn to look after them, but they quickly disappear into the darkness of the tunnel behind you. The door in front of you swings open, the full weight of the music washing out. A tall woman with sharp, geometric patterns of ink tattooed across her skin smiles at you with sharp teeth, glowing luminescent in the UV lighting above her. "First timers?" she asks, but doesn't wait for an answer. "Don't worry, those costumes are great. Come on, come in." As you move to comply, she takes each of your hands, stamping a twisting design on the back, shining bright in the UV light. "Welcome," she says, as she ushers you out of the lobby and into the noise and crowd beyond. "To the Insomniacs' Ball." ◉ Though entirely capable of independent action and thought, new characters will find themselves completely, unquestioningly compliant to any verbal statement which could be taken as a command or request.

> THE INSOMNIACS' BALL

The message from El comes the same as previous: insistent, not waiting for any active attempt to open it. Scrolling within your vision as if being written while you're reading it. I'm not saying bus #5 got past me, but our favorite mysterious human traffickers have gone seriously sneaky this time around. And I'm not saying I can't help you get to where you need to be, but I can't. This one needs legwork, because you're going to have to land invites to the Insomniacs' Ball. The Insomniacs' Ball is an open secret. A New Amsterdam urban myth, disbelieved by many and desired for by even more. A week long party held every year as the working schedule changes, as the city struggles between the oppressive heat and the shifting of sleep cycles. Whether you'd prefer to be asleep at night or day, the ball doesn't care - a rolling, 24/7 event that continues until it disappears, as quickly as it arrived. Its location is a secret. Existence frowned upon, possibly even shut down by the authorities - dancing until you fall down is hardly advisable while water rationing is in place. Yet every year the rumors spin again, the whispers, clues and tastes and photos shared on social media which vanish before anyone can really be sure what they saw. Whoever puts the ball together is as good at keeping their head down as Morningstar - and most likely greases more wheels, rather than trying to be a wrench in the machine. Either way, all El can do is point you to the same paths anyone else hungry for an invite is taking. THE PUZZLE Emerging on social media like proverbial white rabbits, clues in the form of bizarre symbols, phrases or riddles have appeared, hidden in images or tucked in VR simulations. Solving them isn't for the impatient. Some take more work than others, a knowledge of numbers or pattern recognition, or ancient cultural references. The answers come as new clues, pointing to locations in the city, to other VR simulations, to figures waiting in cafes or particular enemies in your favorite VR video game. A treasure hunt for the modern age, as each step is completed the participants are whittled down, but for anyone who reaches the end, the prize of an invite to one of the most mysterious pieces of New Amsterdam life is worth all of the work to get there. THE DARE The challenges start small. Stand up and sing in a crowded restaurant. Take a selfie at the UNA's front door. Eat a live scorpion. Soon it escalates, taking even the most jaded of adrenaline junkies on a rollercoaster of illegal and death-defying stunts. Joyriding a notorious gangster's hoverbike. Climbing a construction beam between two of the tallest buildings in the city. Standing in central square and declaring yourself to be a Morningstar operative. The risks climb higher and higher, and for some the stakes are too much. Others hold their nerve, eyes set firmly on the goal, the victory of holding an invite in their hands. THE BOON And then there are those who make no effort at all. Passed to them by the hands of lady luck, their invites arrive in their pockets, slid under their doorframes or hidden under a glass at work. Bartenders open up crates of stock and find a wedge of them tucked in amongst the packaging; bike couriers arrive at delivery destinations only to find a parcel waiting there for them. Whether targeted or purely a matter of chance, many attendants at the Insomniacs' Ball will have had the opportunity simply fall in their lap - and some may not recognize what they've received at all. However you've managed to get your hands on an invite, the directions on the back are the same - leading you deep down into the city's underground, past some of the darker corners and into some even darker ones. A rusted, disused door to an abandoned maintenance area wouldn't look like the place, but the intricate geometric design painted silvery and barely visible across the surface matches the invite you hold, and you know you've found the entrance to wonderland. Behind the door, lies a twisting network of tunnels and rooms built into natural caves, ultimately abandoned by the city when its insides proved too difficult to navigate. Now, for a short time, it's home to a carnival of revelry. Strobing neon lights illuminate snatches and glimpses of the crowd, glowing in pools of UV: a dense mass of people from all over the city, young and old, music and dancing flowing from chamber to chamber, clashing and mixing between. Extravagant, outrageous costumes mingle with simple streetwear, or with no-wear at all. People hand out masks, drinks, substances which it may not be advisable to consume. Sealed bottles of water seem to appear from nowhere, passed among the people, their source and seeming escape from the rationing in the city far above going unquestioned. Smaller chambers offer some respite for those who need to take a minute, catch their breath, or want a quiet corner to talk with a new friend. Other chambers contain more hedonistic displays, with most participants always willing to accept another into their number. No one seems to be in any rush - there's roughly a week to soak in all the delights, and you can even come and go as you please, the UV pattern now stamped on your hand allowing access back through the various doors, if you can find your way back to one. But you're here for a different purpose, and whether it took you hours or days to find your way here, you know that the party will end eventually - and anything more unusual which may be hiding inside will be revealed. ◉ The Insomniacs' Ball and the related methods of gaining an invite will last for one week, from August 23-30. New characters can be retrieved at any time during this, or can find their own way out and be discovered on the streets - just please be advised that they will not be able to survive in New Amsterdam without first spending time in the Morningstar safehouse and having their ID set up. ◉ We will not be dictating set pieces of the ARG puzzle or challenges - these are left to player discretion as to what your character would have realistically managed to solve or complete! ◉ The invite themselves are business card sized pieces of metal with an intricate geometric patterns etched on one side, and an address on the other. The address leads to a quick series of clues and locations which will take characters to the door as described. ◉ The same geometric design will be present throughout the ball, worn by some of the guests and doorpeople, and even carved into the walls of some of the caves. ◉ While in the ball, there will be rumors and whispers circulating about the owner of the ball being in attendance, and that particularly impressive guests may earn some special reward - or just guarantee an invite again next year.

> THE SAFEHOUSE

Access to the safehouse is a hatch hidden behind stacks of empty storage shelves in the back of an abandoned supermarket in an outer district of the city. The immediate area is similarly abandoned, empty stores, flanked by several blocks of dive bars and clubs which cater to more niche tastes. A place where people can come and go unseen, or, if seen, not spoken of. A dark haired woman called Gaby is ready to greet the new arrivals and get them settled in, brusque and no-nonsense – she'll be open for in depth questions later, but will advise everyone to ask the people who brought them in for the beginning bits of information. ◉ The safe house is a large open space, filled with rows of basic cots set up to sleep a large amount of people. Basic, but outfitted with everything necessary for daily life. A few doors lead to back rooms for storage, medical care and a large communal bathroom, and past the long rows of cots there is a communal kitchen, fully stocked, and an eating area. Privacy is at a minimum. ◉ New characters will be asked to pick their beds, and provided with a change of (second-hand, mismatched and somewhat threadbare) clothes and basic toiletries. ◉ While there were previously also NPC occupants of the safehouse, natives to New Amsterdam, these people have now been moved on to somewhere safer. A few of their belongings remain, discarded or accidentally abandoned. ◉ Gaby will make it clear to all new arrivals that if they have any requests or queries, they should contact her or El. ◉ The drugs making new characters compliant will remain in their systems for a few hours after their being dropped off by the guards before finally beginning to fade. They will be gone entirely after a night's rest. In the meantime, they may want to be careful of what others say to them. ◉ New characters will be given rudimentary access to the network on arrival in the safehouse, but will not have their ID set up yet. They will be able to make posts and replies, but their messages will be anonymous and they do not have inboxes yet. ◉ New characters will not be allowed to leave the safehouse until FOUR DAYS AFTER THEIR ARRIVAL AT THE SAFEHOUSE. These 4 days are for them to adjust, learn about the world they've arrived in from their fellows, and for El to speak with them and work on setting up their IDs.

> FINAL OOC NOTES

Welcome to Meadowlark, newbies! You're now free to post to the network and logs comms. To reiterate, your characters will have no IDs or inboxes, nor be allowed out of the safehouse until they have been there for four days. At that point it's expected they'll have gotten a good idea of their new situation from their fellow characters, and will have discussed their background and job potentials with El in order for their false IDs to be set up. If you have any questions or ideas about how you'd like to get your character involved in the world, or if they'd like to join Morningstar, please head over to the plot engagement post and drop us a comment! For questions specific to this log, there is a thread below. Please check out our December calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month. As a reminder, AC this month will be a check-in only. AC will be posted on December 20 and close on December 27. If you do not reply to AC, you will be considered idled and dropped from the game. We will not post a warning list.

> NAVIGATION

Comments

[revlon]

[ So he can take a hint. Not the first one she threw his way, a thinly veiled request to leave well enough alone; but the second hits its mark. She's equal parts impressed, irritated, and resigned as she reads the shift in his body language because it means he's in this for the long haul, ready to play and adapt, and she'll have to work twice as hard to shake him loose. It also tells her that their mutual comforts are secondary to the information he wants to share, or the point he needs to make.

Curiouser and curiouser.

But Peggy is going to be suspicious no matter what the approach or how handsome the messenger may be. (And this man is certainly striking, even under the paint and garish lights of the party.) She doesn't know who brought her here, if they were a delivery, or if they were turned loose only to be recaptured like some sort of sick game. Anyone who seems to know even a little bit about it sends alarm bells ringing. ]

Don't you think everyone else in attendance knew precisely what they were getting themselves into?

[That's her best guess and circles back to her first impression of Markus. Because who would dive into this unless they wanted to? Or had to. ]

[saviorexe]

[He prefers straightforward honesty, but Markus can play the game just as well as the next. He’s had to put on gracious smiles, playing into the hands of quiet expectation, at least once before. Jericho’s organized infiltration into Stratford had required as much, and while these circumstances are quite different, Markus falls into the same warm mannerisms he employed in the lobby of that tower, on that brittle-cold, snowy day in Detroit.

The smile is soft, there’s an almost-shrug of his shoulders as hands lift then settle into the pockets of dark jeans as they walk. He ignores — to the best o this ability, bless him — the feeling of paint wetly crinkling at the corner of his lips.

And he laughs, lightly. The sort of laugh that seems innocuous on the surface, but acute ears will hear the grains of stress beneath them, oh-so indicative of, ‘hey I hate this place’.]

Yes and no. Would you believe this is my first time at a party like this? Besides, you didn’t know what you were getting into, either, did you?

[The gentlest wheedling, prodding.]

[revlon]

[ Well played, Markus. She'd admire the technique if she wasn't trying to get out of this mess. ]

Maybe not, [ she demurs, glancing over her shoulder to avoid a narrow collision with another partygoer. She should turn around, perhaps even stop, but she settles for a sort of sideways weave through the crowd instead. One eye on him at all times. ] But I do love a bit of mystery.

[ It ties into what she'd said earlier about the host. That wasn't just a line; she's heard enough from the others in the cave that the person responsible for the festivities may or may not be in attendance. Rumouor has it they're elusive, never been seen. Intriguing enough without taking into account the feats people had to accomplish to gain admission (not all of them, but enough). ]

Since you don't seem to want to take 'no' for an answer, [ pointedly said, as Peggy swipes a water bottle held aloft in the crowd and cracks it open, ] why don't you join me in solving it? [ She flashes a smile right before taking a long swig. Wait for it. ] I meant what I said about the host.

[ She does wonder if the people on her bus were meant for them, in the end. ]

[saviorexe]

[His own mismatched gaze never leaves her form, in some way. Even when she stops, or weaves through the crowd, and Markus loses eye contact, he makes certain to root his vision on her shoulder, or on her back; don't lose her in the crowd, he tells himself, allowing it to become a pulsating mantra echoing in the back of his mind.

So when she steps that way, so does he. Sliding past a drunken partygoer? Markus echoes the gesture with ease, though there's a strange completeness to his movements, something oddly purposeful that he can't quite ever shake; a clear indication of his android roots, though that information is very much not public knowledge.]

Then you've piqued my interest. [What a lark, that, as if his interest wasn't already there. As if he's not being stubborn in his own conciliatory way.] I've been wondering abut the host; I'd like to meet them, if we can unravel the mystery of who they are. We'd do well to ask around.

[He eyes her water bottle, but having no need for a drink just yet, ignores it for now.]

Speaking of asking, what's your name?

[revlon]

[ Bloody hell, he's good. Persistent and good, tailing her through the crowd with laser-focused precision. She wonders how many people know about her and her group, how many of them are out there trying to pluck them out of this crowd, and why. To help? Maybe. He had said as much. But given that they were led here by armed guards with hoods over their heads, she's inclined to be a little less naive.

Of course she's going to give him a false name. ]

Katherine! [ It's the last alias she used in California. But she'd done it infiltrating a secure federal facility. This is a little less — predictable. ] What's yours?

[ Fair's fair. ]

[saviorexe]

Markus!

[Is fair's fair when one name is real and the other is FALSE...

But it's something to call her by, and it's a step in the right direction, even if it is couched in utterly false pretenses. Weaving through another particularly raucous and laughing group, Markus somehow manages to keep a grin on his face as a spray of neon showers down on them. The corner of said smile doesn't even twitch, good on him.]

Still new to the city by a few months' time!

[revlon]

Yeah?

[ Peggy Carter does not say yeah. But Katherine with the unruly classmates and a blasé attitude about the surrounding chaos does, and though she does jerk with alarm when the neon splatters them both (she's been curbing fight or flight since she got here, her heart is still pounding under the smile), the recover is smooth — a laugh, as she swipes the paint off her face with her jacket sleeve.

Christ, she needs to find a washroom to get this off. ]

Where'd you come from, then? Before.

[saviorexe]

[Look at them both, fighting the dominant urge to show just how much they hate this. And good on them, how they manage to push through their discomfort; surely a showing of strength of character, despite their increasingly alarming need for a washroom.

The question she presents him with is always something of a test, however. One that either sparks recognition with some, or complete ignorance with others.]

Detroit. Heard of it?

[In this world, in all of its terrible changes wrought by an unkind future, Detroit no longer exists. Just a wasteland where the city once stood centuries ago. But neither of them are from around here, and no one will notice the oddity of the answer when lost in a crowd like this.]

[revlon]

[ She doesn't yet know about the future outside this cave. She doesn't know what cities do and don't exist five centuries ahead of her time, where they're all thriving in spite of the war that threatened to wipe a few off the face of the map. (And the Allies are guilty of trying on two horrific accounts.) So Peggy doesn't know how much of a giveaway it is, how much of a target it paints on her back, to answer — ]

Of course I have. [ Still smiling, thinking the nonchalance plays into her cover when in fact, it blows it entirely out of the water. ] Is it a bit of a cliché to ask if you like cars?